


A Gentleman's Wager

by ahiddenpath



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22321123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahiddenpath/pseuds/ahiddenpath
Summary: When Taichi notices Koushiro's stubble, things somehow snowball into a facial hair growing contest between most of the male Chosen Children. Humor/romance/drama. One shot.
Relationships: Ichijouji Ken/Motomiya Daisuke | Davis Motomiya, Izumi Koushirou | Izzy Izumi/Original Character(s), taichi yagami/original character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	A Gentleman's Wager

**A Gentleman** **’s Wager**

Taichi mashed buttons on his video game controller and leaned closer to the television. A bead of sweat slid down his forehead as a soldier in purple armor ducked under cover, avoiding his spray of plasma bullets.

"Damn it, Koushiro," Taichi growled. "Come out and fight like a man!"

Koushiro was seated close enough for Taichi to hear his quiet laugh. "That's hardly a sound strategy. There are consequences to standing in the open on a battlefield."

Yamato started laughing on his other side, and Taichi looked away from the screen. "What's so fun-" The blond elbowed him, and Taichi followed his gaze back to the television just in time to see Koushiro's soldier put a bullet through his character's helmet.

Taichi gaped at the fallen collection of orange armor, slapped his forehead, and cursed. " _Damn it_ , Koushiro! Where did you get a sniper rifle?"

Taichi wouldn’t be fooled into looking away from the screen again, but he could picture Koushiro’s tart expression without seeing it. "It's _your_ game, Taichi-san. There's no reason for me to recall the weapon spawning patterns more accurately than you do."

Taichi grunted. He was relieved when the timer on the round ran out. He kept tapping the "A" button, skipping over the match results, which would place him in last. Sighing, he looked away from the screen and around the living room. It was Saturday night, and he had invited the male Chosen to his apartment. Everyone except Jyou and Iori was there for a night of video games, friendly bickering, and similar male tomfoolery.

"You're just off your game tonight, Senpai." Daisuke leaned forward so he could be seen around Koushiro. Yamato snorted, and Taichi scowled at him.

"Rules are rules," Taichi sighed, holding up his controller. "Loser phases out. Here, Takeru." Takeru rose, accepted the controller, and took Taichi's spot beside his brother on the sofa.

Taichi retreated to the pile of cushions beside the couch, where Ken was seated. "Sure you don't want in, Ichijouji?" Taichi asked.

Ken's eyes didn't rise from the textbook in his lap. "No, thank you." Daisuke glanced at them over his shoulder, caught Taichi's eye, and shook his head.

_Ah._ Ken was willing to play racing games, but he never touched anything violent. "Uh- You okay?" Taichi asked. Ken nodded, and Taichi cuffed his shoulder, unsure of what else to do. He returned his attention to the game, but his interested faded. His gaze roamed around the apartment he shared with another student from his university, then landed on his friends. A sudden observation made him lunge for the couch, nearly knocking Ken over. He seized Koushiro's face, turning it away from the television and towards himself. 

Dark eyes narrowed at him beneath a crinkling brow. "Taichi-san. Do you mind?"

Taichi tilted the redhead's face towards the overhead light, eliciting a crack from Koushiro’s neck and a muttered phrase that Taichi chose to ignore. "What the hell, man!" Taichi cried. "You've got _stubble_."

Koushiro closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, probably searching for patience. "Yes?" he said, prying Taichi's hands from his cheeks. "It's unavoidable in the evening, I'm afraid."

Taichi blinked, put his hands back on Koushiro’s face, and rubbed upward. Tiny russet hairs scratched at his palms. "Are you serious?" he muttered.

Koushiro sighed and tossed his controller to the floor. "Personal space, Taichi-san."

Taichi rolled his eyes, then stretched Koushiro's cheeks out. When they entered the Digiworld years ago, the redhead's face had been round, smooth, and shadowed by an overgrown haircut. Now that baby fat was long gone, his hair was short, and his face was bristly. What the hell had happened?

"Taichi," Yamato sighed. "Let him go. We're trying to play, here."

"I don't mind," Daisuke laughed. "I'm winning!"

Taichi looked away from Koushiro, who was struggling ineffectively and protesting with vocabulary Taichi didn't quite understand. Yamato was staring at him with ice-blue eyes, and Taichi shivered. That considering, assessing look was too familiar for comfort. 

"So he's got facial hair," Yamato said slowly. "No big deal. We all do, now..." A golden eyebrow rose, then bounced tauntingly. "Right?"

_Damn you to hell, Ishida._ "Of course," Taichi growled. 

Daisuke prodded Koushiro with his elbow. "Hey, Koushiro. What do you look like if you stop shaving?"

Taichi finally released Koushiro, who rubbed his jaw and sighed. "I wouldn't know. I've always shaved daily."

"Huh." The match ended, and Daisuke placed his controller on the floor. "Y'know, I dunno either! I wonder what I'd look like with a beard..."

There was a snort from the far side of the room, and Taichi glanced back at Ken. He caught a glimpse of a smile before the boy lowered his head again.

"What!" Daisuke cried, jumping to his feet. "You don't think it would look good?"

"It would hide some of his face," Takeru pointed out. "That could only be an improvement."

Daisuke pointed at Takeru without looking away from Ken. "Shut up, Takeru. You don't think I could work a beard, Ichijouji?"

"There's only one way to find out," Yamato said. Taichi scowled at him. Although Yamato was addressing Daisuke, he was looking at Taichi. He smirked when their eyes met.

_Ishida! You snide son of a-_

"You think I should grow one?" Daisuke asked. He stroked his chin, as if to admire a nonexistent beard. 

Yamato chuckled. "I didn't say _that_. I said it's the only way to know if you'll like it or not."

"Hmm..." Daisuke toyed with the goggles around his neck, running his fingers over the circular rims. Taichi grinned and shook his head. Despite wearing them daily since his first trip to the Digiworld, the goggles were still in remarkable shape. _You can say what you want about Daisuke, but he knows how to take care of what's important._

"I'll do it," Daisuke said at last. "But only if you guys do it with me."

Ken and Yamato snorted in unison. "I have an image to uphold," Yamato said. "Count me out. Besides, my beard would probably be identical to Takeru's."

Takeru snorted and elbowed his brother. “Sure. Make me your scapegoat.”

“Why not?” Yamato shrugged, but Taichi recognized the signs of a brother masking amusement at his sibling’s expense. “If something seems fun, you’ll do it, regardless of my input.”

Takeru’s reply was drowned out by Daisuke stomping towards Ken. He crouched beside the genius, leaned in, and half-shouted, “C’mon, don’t make me grow a beard alone.”

Taichi grinned, amused by Daisuke’s single-minded insistence. Ken shifted, blocking Taichi’s view of his face. Taichi’s curiosity spiked. He leaned closer.

Ken spoke in his typical soft, subdued tone, and Taichi’s expression twisted with his effort to hear. “Beard or bed,” he muttered. “Your choice.”

Daisuke’s eyes flared wide open. His acceptance was immediate, if reluctant. _Holy shit. Did Ichijouji just reign him in with five words?_ Taichi almost asked for a lesson in arguing with his doppelganger on the spot, with the caveat that no loaded references to beds were involved.

“Alright,” Yamato said. “Ken and myself are out.” Taichi spun around to stare at the bassist. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that Yamato had followed Ken and Daisuke’s conversation, despite being engaged in conversation with Takeru the whole time. “Are the rest of you in?”

Koushiro sighed and shook his head. "I'm not interested, either."

"Well, it won't be much of a contest with just Taichi, Daisuke, and Takeru," Yamato pointed out. "Why not give it a shot? There's nothing to lose."

Koushiro lifted an eyebrow. "I'm no more fond of making myself look foolish than you are. And how is this a contest? There's something to lose, but nothing to gain."

"Yeah there is!" Daisuke tugged a wallet out of his pocket and fished out a 1,000 yen note. He held it out towards Koushiro and plucked it, so that it made a snapping sound. Taichi grinned as Koushiro leaned away from the note.

"That's hardly compelling," he muttered.

"That may not be, but I've got some, too." Takeru handed Daisuke a second 1,000 yen note. "Let's see, if it's me, Daisuke, Taichi-san, and Koushiro-san, that's 4,000 yen to the winner... Iori-kun can’t participate, since his high school probably doesn’t allow facial hair… But maybe Jyou-san would!"

"I rather doubt that," Koushiro said, but Takeru stood, plucked his phone from his pocket, and moved to the living room to call Jyou. Koushiro sighed and added, "Besides, 5,000 yen isn't tempting enough to-"

Yamato grinned at Taichi and pulled another note from his pocket. "6,000 yen," he said. "I'm sure I'll get my money's worth."

Taichi caught Yamato's eye and fixed him with his finest death glare. Yamato smirked back, completely unfazed, and said, "Take a look around, Koushiro. You're the only one in the room with any stubble. The odds are in your favor."

Koushiro's expression softened from annoyance to thoughtfulness. Taichi focused on the redhead as if he were an opposing goalie. His mind chanted the same words endlessly, trying to impress a message on Koushiro with telepathy.

_It's stupid. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't..._

Taichi twitched when Koushiro turned towards him. For a second, he almost thought his psychic communication succeeded, but his stomach flipped as Koushiro's gaze swept over his face. The corners of the redhead’s mouth nudged up.

"Fine," he said, shrugging. "It's foolish, but I suppose it's harmless."

"Al _right_!" Daisuke cried, pumping his fist. Taichi turned at the sound of Ken's faint laugh. 

_Great. Just great._ Sighing, Taichi handed over his portion of the bet to Yamato, who was collecting the rest of the pool.

"What's the criteria for winning?" Koushiro asked. "Are we looking for the longest beard? Choosing the best looking seems too subjective."

Yamato shrugged. "I get the feeling things will sort themselves out. We'll vote on the winner... And we can ask the girls for opinions, too."

_Hooray_ _…_ Taichi winced. The last thing he needed was a larger audience for this.

“Great!” Daisuke rubbed his palms together. “So how are we doing this?”

"Hmm... Everyone shave tomorrow morning, and we'll see what we've got in a week," Yamato replied.

Takeru returned to the room with a grin. "Jyou-san's in," he said, and Taichi blinked.

"The hell did you manage that?" Takeru grinned in response, and Taichi shivered. He knew better than to challenge that smile, and, judging by Yamato's sudden change of topic, he wasn't the only one.

Before long, they were playing video games again, and Taichi found himself going out of his way to blow Yamato into smithereens, even if it meant passing up easy kills. 

**XXX**

Koushiro stared at a monitor and tried not to hear his girlfriend's muffled giggling. They were in their apartment, seated at a huge, second-hand table that served as a double desk. They sat on opposite sides, so they could glance up and see one another.

Normally, this was a perfect arrangement. But lately, he found himself programming to a feminine laugh track, and he wasn't sure he could endure it much longer without comment.

Koushiro sighed and seized his monitors. They were attached to swing arms for mobility, and he pushed them to either side, affording a clear view of Eimi. She looked up and shoved her palms over her mouth. Her shoulders hunched and shook as she tried to contain a spastic fit of giggles.

Koushiro pushed in the drawer he had attached to the table to hold his keyboard, then crossed his arms. He cocked a single eyebrow. "Perhaps it would be better for you to indulge openly. You're clearly unable to pretend that there's nothing out of the ordinary."

If Eimi pressed her hands inward any further, she would choke on her palms. Koushiro kept his expression blank as he watched her, but it was difficult to avoid smiling. She was trying her best not to laugh at him, bless her, but she was only human.

"Go on," he said gently. "You look like you're nearly in pain. And I'm aware of how unfortunate this beard is."

A loud snort slid out, followed by a tremulous giggle. Another followed, and then another, until they cascaded together, crashing into full-blown laughter. Eimi buried her face in the pages of the enormous textbook in front of her, but it did little to muffle her hysterics.

Koushiro endured with good humor for five minutes, then with slight irritation for the next five. Soon after, he began to feel that enough was enough, and he scowled at the shaking, gasping woman seated opposite him. He nudged her foot with his, and she jerked upright. A textbook page adhered to her cheek, and she peeled it off sheepishly. 

Despite his annoyance, Koushiro's lips twitched upwards at the corners. Eimi had a round face, nondescript save for her full lower lip and a pair of deep brown eyes that could melt a man caught unaware. Or at least, that's what Koushiro thought, although he admitted that his typical objectivity didn't always apply to her.

"Do you feel better?" he asked, infusing the words with a teasing dash of sarcasm. Eimi was red-faced and fighting for breath, with her long brown hair disheveled around her. Her mouth popped open, but she was too busy breathing to speak.

"You've _got_ to shave it," she gasped at last. 

Koushiro sighed. "I fully intend to the instant Taichi-san admits defeat. Unfortunately, until then, I require it."

A thin squeal slid up Eimi's throat. "But- But you look- You look like a lumberjack. The world's nerdiest, tiniest lumberjack."

Koushiro grimaced as Eimi's fingertips darted over the table, then gripped its edge. She started laughing again, but it died out in a pathetic groan. She grabbed her stomach and doubled over.

"A lumberjack," Koushiro echoed, cradling his forehead in his palm. It was an eerily accurate description of his beard. He was trying to keep it well groomed, so it covered his cheeks and chin in a thick layer cropped about half an inch away from his skin. It lent him an outdoorsy feel that sat poorly with his scrawny frame. 

Eimi jerked upright again and snorted. Her eyes watered over a trembling pair of tightly-clasped lips. Koushiro felt his shoulders bow. "What's your next colorful description?"

She shook her head and curled her lips inward, until their pink color was invisible. Despite his growing dread, Koushiro was tempted to laugh. "It's alright," he said. "I'm genuinely curious."

Her eyes pinched shut. "I'm sorry- I just-" Her voice dived in volume, and Koushiro leaned closer to hear the rest. "You look just like a leprechaun."

Koushiro leaned against the table for support. "A... A leprechaun?" For a moment, he was bemused. Then, emotions walloped him, and he had to choose between being offended and amused, two equally compelling arguments. He watched Eimi's face contort with her effort not to laugh, and the choice was made for him.

He parked his elbows on the table, held his head in his hands, and laughed until he couldn't breathe. 

Eventually, they were both gasping and lying flat across the table, and he was staring at Eimi's upside-down, red, tear-streaked face. 

"I'm so sorry," she groaned. 

Koushiro sighed and wiped the moisture from her face. "Quite alright. I'm perfectly aware that this is all very foolish, and yet... Well, here I am."

She leaned into his touch and turned wet, bright eyes to his. "Why are you doing this? I figured it was some sort of male pride thing, so I tried not to ask, but... It's getting a little... Ridiculous."

Koushiro exhaled until his lungs flattened out. His palm absently cupped her cheek as he considered his answer. He had noticed and appreciated Eimi's tact in withholding comment on the contest, but at this point, it was probably best to explain.

Not that he _wanted_ to.

His glance flicked away from her eyes. "I've... Never been..." He hesitated, and Eimi picked up his other hand, twined her fingers in his, and lifted his knuckles to her lips. Koushiro smiled ruefully. _Don_ _’t stall, fool. You can’t hold back from her. Best get it over with._

"I've always been the smallest of the older Chosen, smaller even than Mimi-san, Sora-san, and yourself, at least until high school. I'm not athletic. I'm not fit. I have no interest in sports, automobiles, and other activities considered masculine." He sighed and shifted back, aware of how reluctant he sounded.

Eimi spread his fingers and kissed his palm. "None of that matters," she said. "You've always been yourself, and that's more than enough for me."

He forced a smile and willed himself to accept her words as truth. Eimi had doted on him for so long that it was tempting to treat her good opinion of him as an inevitable aspect of life, like sunshine, rain, and taxes. But he couldn’t afford to be dismissive of something so precious, no matter how familiar it was. 

"I know,” he said gently. “I appreciate that. And really, those things rarely bothers me. But it sometimes affects people's perception of me. There were times in the Digital World when Taichi-san would push me back and discourage me from fighting. And I've been overlooked or forgotten, such as when Hikari-san was trapped in Andromon's city. And, because of that, I've sometimes wished that I were..." 

He wasn't sure how to finish. Taller? Stronger? More personable, more outgoing, more active? The options sounded silly and superficial, but he couldn't deny that he had felt his lack of them.

Eimi's dark eyes stared into his for a long time, and he was relieved when she finally blinked. "You're saying you want to out-macho the others for once, particularly Taichi."

Koushiro felt his cheeks growing warmer. "It sounds so petty," he muttered.

A huge, curling smile overtook Eimi's face. "Are you kidding? Someone needs to knock Taichi down a peg, and you deserve a turn. Kick his butt!"

Koushiro blinked, grinned, and slid closer. "You don't think I'm being too pigheaded, then?"

"Nah," Eimi said, lifting a single shoulder in a shrug. "It's not hurting anyone.” Her expression morphed from playful to serious as her forehead touched his. “But I think you should know... All of the Chosen think the world of you. We wouldn't change you for anything, Taichi and me least of all." 

Koushiro cleared his throat roughly, trying to dislodge the sudden obstruction. "I know," he said quietly. "Thank you." He scooted closer, but froze when Eimi's palm sprawled across his mouth.

"Nooooo," she whined, softening the objection with a smile. "No kisses. They're so scratchy, it tickles."

Koushiro swayed, catching himself with his hand before he splayed flat on the desk. "I beg your pardon," he drawled as he stood. He walked around the table to Eimi's side and tipped her onto her back. Despite her continued objections about bristly kisses, her body rose towards his as he lay down on top of her.

His hands closed around her wrists, and she struggled, but egged him on with a nervous giggle. When he was sure that she was legitimately pinned, he kissed her, cutting off her protests. 

The twitching and complaining ceased, and the tension in her muscles drained. She melted into the table, into him, and Koushiro kissed and caressed until the woman beneath him was limp and breathless. When he edged back to speak, her mouth tried to follow his. 

"You seemed to enjoy the stubble before it grew out,” he said, recalling Eimi’s constant touch on his cheeks. Her eyes slid open, and Koushiro smiled at their naked heat and interest. “If you endure scratchy kisses for the rest of the week, I'll grow it at your request."

He could practically hear a pithy retort forming in her mind, but she couldn’t seem to voice it. Koushiro watched her, red-faced, overwhelmed, breathing heavily, and felt a surge of fondness for the woman who loved him for everything he was, and everything he wasn’t.

He kissed her again, quite forgetting to wait for her acceptance of his proposal. Soon after, he forgot most of the other things he knew, except for a very specific skill set. 

**XXX**

Daisuke stared into his bedroom mirror and sighed. He turned to Ken, who was reading in bed, gestured towards his chin, and cried, "This looks so stupid!"

"Oh, thank god." Ken sat the book down and rose from the bed. "I was afraid to tell you myself."

"W-wait," Daisuke said, glancing back towards the mirror. "Is it really that bad?" The room was dim, since the sun was setting fast, so he flipped the light switch and squinted at his reflection.

It really _was_ bad. His facial hair was growing fine... in some spots. His chin and jaw were well covered, but the hair was sparse over his cheeks. Some of the skin was completely smooth, as if someone had ripped pinches of hair out here and there.

"God damn it," he sighed. "I look like an idiot." Which was _not_ a an impression that he could afford to reinforce. "Why is it all patchy...?"

He watched Ken approach him in the mirror. The bastard was smiling, damn it. "That happens to some people, Daisuke. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

As usual, logic did little to soothe him. "Yeah, well... I'm not going to win with this mess. The hell even happened? Senpai's going to laugh until he chokes when he sees me..."

Ken stepped beside him and nudged his chin up. Daisuke scowled at him. He had always believed that he would have an epic growth spurt someday, and he would _finally_ grow taller than Ken. But they were nineteen now, and his roommate was still a full head taller.

He was about to express his irritation when Ken's fingers trailed over his chin. "You know," he murmured, "this much has grown in nicely... Have you considered a goatee?"

"A goatee?" Daisuke echoed. "Aren't those for evil twins?" Ken lifted an eyebrow, but made no reply. He stepped behind Daisuke, reached around him, and cupped his cheeks with his palms, covering the scraggly hair there.

"How does that look?" he asked. 

Daisuke screwed his face up. “I see you covering up my hobo beard.” Ken exhaled by his ear, and he shuddered. Daisuke grinned suggestively, but Ken was too focused on his task to see it. 

“Look beyond that,” he said. “Try to visualize your face with just the hair on your chin and jawline.”

“Hnn. Let me, like, consult my inner eye,” Daisuke said sarcastically. In addition to being better looking and smarter than him, Ken could visualize things well, had impeccable tastes, and was not without artistic talent. As usual, evidence of such left him in the grip of a confusing blend of pride, arousal, and inadequacy.

But Ken was caught up in his styling, riveted to the mirror. “You look great, Daisuke,” he said. “It really adds something.” He dropped his hands and smiled. “But, ah, the rest of it will have to go.”

Daisuke’s face crinkled as he considered his options. “We never said the _longest_ beard would win,” he recalled.

“I imagine Koushiro-san has you beat there, anyway. And regardless of the contest, I think you should try this, if you’re not opposed.”

“My stylist has spoken,” Daisuke said with a grin. “But I’ll need help. I’ll just make it uneven or something.” Daisuke was aware that he missed patches of hair more often than not with his usual shaving, so the odds of him pulling this off were low.

“Fair enough,” Ken said. “I’ll get my shaving kit and meet you in the bath.” He seemed relieved, as if he had wanted to suggest that from the start, but feared giving offense. Daisuke watched him leave the bedroom, smiling absently at his butt and toned legs, showcased in those super tight pants that Daisuke couldn’t endure wearing himself.

 _Why piss and moan about having a boyfriend who_ _’s hotter than you? It has its bright sides._ He grinned as he left the room in search of a towel.

**XXX**

Ken opened the door to the toilet room and grabbed his shaving supplies, then led Daisuke to the bath. "You might want to take your shirt off," he said.

Daisuke's typical brainless smile morphed into a smirk. "Yeah?" he said, lifting his eyebrows. "Been a while since you've asked me to strip, Ichijouji."

_I should have seen that coming._ "Would you like my help or not?" Ken asked evenly. Sighing, Daisuke tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. 

Ken blinked. Wasn't Daisuke going to put that shirt back on later? Why was he dropping it on the bathroom floor? It was such a little thing, but it clearly illustrated the differences between them. 

Daisuke parked himself on the stool by the low spigot. "You got the shaving cream?" he asked. Ken handed his supplies over and wiped his razor off with the towel Daisuke handed him.

Daisuke wet his hands, then spread the shaving cream over his face. He looked like a foamy Santa Claus, and Ken sighed. How was he supposed to see the hair beneath all of that? And Daisuke had skipped the rituals of pre-shave oil and the badger brush, denying Ken the chance to apply them himself. His gaze drifted down, mourning the loss.

Ken knelt in front of Daisuke and tipped his face towards the overhead light. Daisuke looked up at him and smirked. "See, I already like where this is going."

Ken sighed and slid the razor out of the hand towel, holding it at Daisuke's eye level. Light glinted off of it, making those brown eyes narrow.

"Holy shit, Ken," he muttered. "People actually still use old-timey razors like that?"

Ken's wrist jerked, moving the long, thin blade away from Daisuke. "Mm. If you're skilled, you can get the closet shave this way."

Even through the globs of shaving cream, Ken could see Daisuke's teasing smile. "Hahaha! Only the best for pretty boy Ichijouji, right?" He elbowed him playfully, and Ken hissed, drawing the razor towards himself and away from Daisuke.

"Be careful! Don't nudge me when I'm holding this. I don't want to hurt you."

As always, the change was instantaneous. Daisuke shifted from smiling and carefree to alert and poised for action in a second, his muscles tensing beneath tanned skin. "You okay, Ken?"

Ken breathed in deeply, then ran his hand over Daisuke's shoulder, trailing his fingers over the clavicle. Daisuke twitched, but didn't flinch, despite the fact that Ken's skin was always so much cooler than his. Ken had a secret, nonsensical theory that it drank the warmth of the sun and permanently captured it. He lingered, soothing himself with the sight and the feel of Daisuke’s tanned, healthy skin.

"I'm fine, Daisuke," he said at last. _His eyes really are like a puppy's. Big, brown, trusting, and completely open._ Daisuke nodded, accepting the lie, like he always did, not out of ignorance, but out of trust. But his hands closed around Ken's hips, as if to warn him that he was on the alert. His legs sprawled out and pressed against his thighs, pinning Ken in place in front of him.

"You do this everyday, Ichijouji. You're fine." Daisuke grinned, then tipped his head back. "C'mon, I want this crap cut off."

Ken swallowed hard. Somehow, he had never noticed how vulnerable an exposed throat looked, despite shaving his daily. Daisuke's jugular beat audibly with his pulse, a ghost of a whisper that Ken was probably only imagining.

Leaning forward, he wet the razor beneath the spigot, then placed its edge against Daisuke's skin, just beneath the jaw. All he had to do was run it down, following the growth of his hair, but he couldn't seem to move. He could _feel_ Daisuke’s pulse now, drumming against his fingertips, and it seemed to shiver up Ken’s bones to his spine, reverberating in his brain. The beat went on an on, a drum line that accompanied every moment of the boy’s life. If he willed it, Ken could still it forever with the twitch of his wrist, and yet the tempo was slow, relaxed, almost languid.

_All those years ago, if I had found myself in this position, would I have..._

It was a pointless question. Ken as the Kaiser always aimed to kill the other Chosen, and Daisuke in particular. He wasn't sure if the Kaiser thought they would physically die, or simply lose a computer game, and he tried not to think about it. 

All he could say for certain was that the hatred, the superiority, the frustration, and the blood lust from back then were all very real. Those feelings, diminished but never entirely forgotten, swelled up his chest and left the acrid taste of blackened bile in his throat. Ken choked and bucked away, but Daisuke’s hands and legs closed like snares around him. There was a loud clatter, and the razor skid across the tile. 

Ken stared down at Daisuke, wide-eyed, frightened, panting. His boyfriend’s eyes couldn’t be compared to a puppy’s now. They were at war, now heating with anger, now softening with understanding. The pulse beneath his fingertips was pitching towards a crescendo. 

Daisuke’s breathing gradually shifted from quick and shallow to deep and measured, and his grip slackened. "You're not going to hurt me, Ken," he said at last.

Ken rubbed the back of his neck. It always seemed to burn in these situations. "How can you be so sure?" he asked. His voice was even smaller than usual, and tinged with loathing. "Back then, I would have."

Daisuke sighed. "That was so long ago, dude. You know I don't hold it against you. I literally _never_ have-" He stood up so quickly that Ken nearly toppled backwards. Daisuke stomped across the room, his body rigid with anger. 

"M-Motomiya…?"

Daisuke scooped the razor off the floor and returned, falling back on the stool. "Look, I know it's painful for you. But I just- I dunno. I expect you to feel safe with me. I just- I've always trusted you, man. I wish you would give me some credit."

Ken gripped Daisuke’s shoulders. He wanted to look at his face, to soothe himself with a familiar, beloved visual, but he couldn’t raise his gaze from the floor. “I trust you with my life,” he whispered. “It's myself that I can't believe in."

Daisuke tipped Ken’s chin up, narrowed his eyes, and scowled. "Yeah, I know. But I trust you enough for both of us, so, like... Believe in me who believes in you?"

Ken's stomach flipped, and the strange sensation ripped up his throat. If Ken were any less miserable, it might have become a laugh. "Daisuke- Did you- Did you just quote a cartoon at me...?"

"Yeah, so?" Daisuke grunted and looked away, but he was smiling beneath his foam beard. "Look man, you don't have to do this if you don't want to, but I think you've got a lower chance of hurting me than I do."

So saying, he placed the razor against the bottom of his neck. Ken grabbed his wrists before he could swipe the blade upward. "Daisuke- _With_ the hair, not against it-"

"Shit, really? See man, I'm hopeless. Help me out."

Ken stared at Daisuke for a long time. He was relaxed and smiling, and his eyes were filled with an affectionate warmth. Sometimes, when Daisuke looked at him like that, Ken was tempted to scream his weaknesses and crimes until that sweet expression twisted into a grimace. How could someone so brave an optimistic think so highly of him, even though he had experienced his worst moments firsthand? It seemed like an error, a colossal imbalance in the realm of karma. 

But usually, it drew Ken back out of himself, as the sun coaxes flowers from the earth. Ken squeezed Daisuke’s hands and reclaimed the razor. “Alright,” he said, tipping Daisuke’s head back. “Hold still.” Daisuke grinned and pulled Ken into him by the hips, smushing their lower bodies together.

Ken ignored the obvious implications. “You’ll have to wait, Daisuke. I’m not kissing you through all of that shaving cream.” 

“Well, quit stalling!” Daisuke cried. Smiling, Ken steadied himself against Daisuke, ran his fingers through his hair, and focused on his task.

**XXX**

Taichi's palms clung to the rim of the bathroom sink and squeezed hard enough to tense every muscle in his arms. He stared at the mirror and cussed. 

There wasn't a single hair on his face below his eyes, which were narrowing into evil slits. The harsh light from the overheads glinted against the flecks of gold in his brown irises.

"God freaking damn it!" 

A slim woman sauntered into the open doorway, where she crossed her arms, tipped her head, and leaned against the frame. "Good morning. And what did God do to you, _mon soleil_?"

Taichi didn't want to look at her. It would distract him, improve his mood, and he was perversely determined to wallow in his problems. But he could feel her gaze on his back, could picture the wicked grin indenting her cheeks. He recalled exactly what she was wearing- and not wearing- and relented.

He lifted his eyes and watched his girlfriend in the mirror. Hana was short, skinny, and composed primarily of willowy limbs. Green eyes sparkled over an upturned button nose and an impish smile.

His gaze slid down, drawn by the enormous shirt cocooning her body. It belonged to him, smelled like him, and it was all she was wearing.

"I asked you a question, Taichi." Hana was probably making an imperious expression, but Taichi was too busy watching her rock against the door frame to notice. Each swaying motion hiked the shirt up a little more.

"Er."

Another undulation of her bony hips, another centimeter of thigh bared. "God has apparently slighted you?" 

"Uh..." With supreme effort, Taichi tore his gaze away, returning it to his reflection. Irritation seized him anew as he ran his palms over his cheeks.

"Yeah," he growled. "I'm going to come in last, as Yamato freaking knew from the start."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "If you knew you can't grow facial hair, then why did you join the contest?"

Taichi grunted, unwilling and unable to provide a better answer. Hana shook her head, chuckled, and stepped into the room. Her arms wrapped around his bare stomach. Despite his mood, he grinned when she stroked his abs.

Her cheek was cool and soft against his spine. "I'm not sure which is worse," she said. "Your pride or your stupidity."

Taichi's cheek twitched. "Great talk, Han," he snapped. "I feel so much better."

Hana shifted her weight to to the balls of her feet, draping her body over the curve of his back. Taichi's eyes slid shut. Although they hadn't been out of bed for long, he would be more than happy to climb back in. 

His thought process must have been obvious, because Hana smacked him and said, "You'll miss your first class."

He shrugged. "Who needs it."

" _You_ do, if you want to qualify as an ambassador. And I need mine, so let's focus, shall we?" Her arms strained upward, reminding Taichi of a child reaching for a cookie jar. He bent his knees, allowing her to reach his face.

Her hands slid over his smooth cheeks. "So you can't grow a beard. Who cares? It doesn't make you less of a man."

"I know that," he grumbled.

"Did you actually _want_ one?"

"Well- Damn it. No." Taichi grabbed his toothbrush from the cup beside the faucet, globbed on way too much toothpaste, and started brushing. Hana released him and sighed.

"That's not going to make this conversation go away." He stared at her, expression blank and unimpressed, but she merely crossed her arms, leaned against the wall, and smiled, as if to say, _Fine, I'll wait_.

He scrubbed every micrometer of every tooth, but Hana maintained that obnoxiously serene expression. When he finally spat, rinsed the sink, and stormed out of the room, she followed at his heels. He collapsed on the living room couch, and she settled against his side. Her posture was perfect, back straight, legs neatly crossed, hands clasped on her lap. Taichi sighed. It didn't matter what she was doing; Hana was always graceful, always poised, always elegant.

Except when she made him check her damned teeth for traces of food. And when she saw a spider. And when-

"Taichi. Less staring, more talking."

He blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts. Although his mind had wandered, his eyes were trained on her thighs, toned and tight with a dancer's muscles. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and searched for an explanation that would end this discussion.

"Look. I don't really care about winning, but I don't want to come in last."

Hana's expression remained impassive, save for the cocking of a single eyebrow. She didn't speak, and she didn't have to. Taichi understood the implied ' _Tell me another one_ ' better than he would have if she had screamed it.

"God damn it," he muttered, scrubbing his face with his palms. "What do you want me to say, Han? I don't like losing. You know that."

Her leg began to swing like a pendulum, and Taichi zeroed in on the movement. Something about the repeated motion was hypnotic, and he was half tempted to pounce, like a cat playing with a feather wand.

"You don't like losing," she agreed. "But you always end up grinning and trying again when you do." She clapped sharply, and Taichi twitched and looked up at her thoughtful scowl. "This is something else."

Taichi threw himself to his feet and headed for the bedroom. "I'll be late for class." 

His steps shook the apartment's floor, but Hana, tiny and fleet-footed, made no sound when she moved. Still, Taichi knew without looking that she was following him. 

Once they were in the bedroom, he removed his sweatpants, hoping to distract her. He was fooling himself, of course. Hana snorted behind him and launched into a new skirmish.

"I've been thinking that you weren't quite yourself lately. I thought you were pining for winter break, but... Well, it's almost May. The semester isn't much longer, really." A tiny hand landed on the small of his back, and Taichi twitched on impact. "Taichi... What's wrong?"

Taichi stepped towards the pile of clothes on the floor and shifted through it, trying to find the cleanest, least wrinkled shirt. "I'm _fine_ , Han."

This time, Hana's touch was less of a pat and more of a wallop. Taichi cursed under his breath, but otherwise ignored the stinging at the base of his spine. 

"I'm trying to help you," she said. Taichi expected the frustration and annoyance in her voice, but was unprepared for the slight tremor. He turned at last.

Her arms were crossed, her foot was tapping, and she was blinking rapidly. Taichi bent closer and cupped her cheeks. Her eyes glinted in a patch of morning light slipping between the blinds.

_Damn it. She's really worried._ Taichi released her under the pretense of pulling a shirt over his head. He didn't want a physical connection right now, not when it gave him more and more proof of how upset she was on his behalf.

And, like a damned mind-reader, Hana slid up from behind and hugged him. "I wish you'd tell me what's going on."

_Aw, shit._ Taichi rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, as if in appeal for divine intervention. He could never withstand guilt trips from the women he loved, as Hana damned well knew. He almost accused her of working an unfair advantage when he felt a tremor work over her.

"Hana..." Sighing, Taichi twisted, lifted her, and sat on the bed. He lowered her onto her lap, and she anchored herself by wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm fine. It's not a huge deal. It's just, you know..." He paused, searching for the right words. In the end, he caught her eyes and winced, half uncomfortable, half apologetic.

"I _don't_ know," she said. "All I can say for certain is that you were always carefree and cheerful last year, and now I catch you sighing and staring into space sometimes."

Taichi gathered her up against him like a child lifting a puppy. He rubbed his cheek against the crown of her head and sighed. "I just... You saw my grades."

She twitched violently, and Taichi gasped and rubbed his chest, where she had elbowed him. "Taichi, since when do you care about your grades?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I dunno. I just... I thought getting into college would be the end of it, somehow. Caring about school, I mean. But when I got the grades for last semester, my adviser called a meeting with me. I’ve been barely passing my classes, Han. If I really want to be an ambassador for the Digital World, then I need to do better."

"Well, okay.” Tiny, slender fingers slid over her chin. “I keep telling you to take college more seriously. But what does that have to do with facial hair?"

He hissed like a kettle coming to boil. Hana's eyes went screwy above a wrinkled nose, but apparently, the temptation to laugh was too great to be denied. Taichi grumbled until her fit passed, trying to mask a begrudging smile. It faded as he organized his reply. 

"We're still undergrads," he sighed, "but the other Chosen? They're already doing great things. Eimi and Jyou are considered pioneers of Digimon biology, and of course Koushiro's, like, the god of the Digital World. Y'know, now that the worlds are merging, Eimi told me that Koushiro could literally _alter Earth's geography_ if he wanted to. I mean, what the hell? That's some apocalyptic shit right there."

"Koushiro-kun isn’t going to move Hawaii to his front door," Hana said. "I think we're good."

"I know," he growled. "But..." Taichi bent over and rubbed the back of his neck. Hana batted his hand away and took over, and he leaned into her massage and closed his eyes. 

"Yamato's a freaking celebrity,” he continued, “and he and his band are wearing clothes Sora made on about five different magazine covers right now. Then there's... Then there's me, nearly flunking. Hell, I can't even grow a stupid _beard_ , even though I used to be..." 

He could picture Hana's expression without seeing it: sympathetic, but scrutinizing. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, as if to draw out the rest of the information. He wilted, curling around the tiny body in his arms.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, reducing the world to the feel and scent of her skin. "Did you know the UN called Koushiro? They want him, Eimi, and Jyou to give a presentation at the Japanese embassy."

"Oh, Taichi..." Hana kissed the crown of his head through the impressive barrier of hair. "I'm sorry. You deserve to be there, too."

He snorted, but held her closer. "Yeah, right. Eimi tried to include me- can you imagine Eimi arguing with a UN ambassador?- but the bottom line is that I don't have anything to contribute. Koushiro's the one monitoring the merging of the worlds. Eimi and Jyou are the ones trying to help all of those sick Digimon. What the hell would I have to say in front of the ambassadors? ‘Hey, guys, I've got no idea what my friends are talking about, but could you recruit me when I graduate?’"

She smacked his shoulder, and the former sympathy in her expression morphed into anger. "You're the leader, Taichi! Of course you have something to contribute!"

"Was, Han. I _was_ the leader. Then it was Daisuke, and now..." He shrugged and stared at the ceiling. "Now we're all... You know. Finding our own way, or whatever."

Hana scrambled onto her knees, straddling him and lifting herself to his eye level. "You listen to me, Taichi. You know there are all kinds of problems with humans and Digimon trying to live together. That's why you need to work hard now. It will take a lot of preparation, but some day, you'll be the person representing Digimon at the UN. You'll make sure their voices are heard. It's true that some of the other Chosen can help more right now, but that doesn't mean you can give up. Someday, all of the Digimon will look to you, and I know you'll fight for them like no one else could."

Taichi hesitated. He wanted to believe, but somewhere along the line, that unshakable optimism and faith in his instincts had diminished. He needed more evidence. "How could you know that?"

"Because you always have,” she said simply. “And if you have time to mope about it, then you have time to work harder. I know you can do it. You'll be a great ambassador, because you've got experience with the Digital World... But mostly because you care, and because you'll give everything to protect what you love."

Taichi muttered something incomprehensible and looked away, trying to hide his shaky smile. “Thanks, Han,” he said at last. Her encouragement merited much more than that, he knew, but he was too overwhelmed to express himself now.

Hana patted his back playfully. "And hey, you won't even have to shave before meetings!"

Taichi dropped his forehead on her shoulder and groaned. "God damn it, Hana," he sighed.

"Oh?" she sang. "Did God slight you, _mon soleil_?"

He knocked her legs out from under her, and she fell into his lap with a squeak. He gathered her against him and kissed the crown of her head. "No, Han. I guess not."

One kiss lead into another, and another, and soon, he was tipping her back against the bed. Hana broke off from him with a gasp and cried, "Taichi- Classes!"

"Ah, shit!"

**XXX**

Taichi stepped out of the train station, slung his arm around Hana's shoulders, and sighed. It was a sunny, mild Saturday afternoon, and everyone was gathering in the park that the Chosen had been using for meetings since those distant days of searching for the Eighth child. 

It was time to show off his invisible beard.

As if reading his frustrated mood, Hana patted his chest and grinned wickedly. "Won't Daisuke be surprised when he realizes that he can grow a better beard than his senpai?"

Taichi tsked. "You never know. He might not be able to grow one, either." That was the last shining ray of hope in this disaster. Although he would never admit it, Taichi loved the mentor/protege thing between him and Daisuke. He had already bequeathed his title, and the goggle-shaped crown that went with it. He didn't want to be further diminished in front of the kid who looked up to him so much, especially when he felt that he had so little left to give.

Although it was fair and clear, a gray cloud seemed to follow him to the park. Although the beard was meaningless, and this whole thing was silly, he couldn't seem to shake off his mood. When his friends came into view, clustered around a picnic table, Taichi dug deep to dredge up a ghost of his typical grin.

Every Chosen Child was here for the Judgment of Beards. The contestants were seated at the table, and everyone else was clustered behind them. When he came within speaking distance, Taichi swayed and found himself leaning heavily on Hana. She was staring from face to face and trembling like a reed in a gale, and she buckled under his weight. Taichi twisted around so that he hit the grass on his back, shielding Hana against his front. They lay there in a convulsing heap, laughing until they choked.

A mixture of sounds greeted him in response: Takeru and Eimi laughing in harmony, a freaky skill unique to the two of them, Koushiro and Jyou sighing, one irritated, one beleaguered, Mimi's sharp tsk, and Daisuke's excited chatter.

His laughter was stilled not by a decrease of amusement, but by the pain in his guts. Groaning, he tipped Hana onto the grass and raised himself onto his shaking elbows. When he caught sight of the boys, his eyes filled with hysterical tears, but his diaphragm refused to cooperate with the urge to laugh.

Eimi trotted over to him and offered her hand. Taichi grabbed it, but didn't put any of his weight on her as he stood. "Nice beard," she said, smiling innocently. Hana snorted, then moaned.

"Yeah, yeah," Taichi grumbled. He scooped Hana up and placed her on her feet like a doll. He walked to the head of the picnic table, slammed his hands on the surface, and stared at his fellow contestants.

Koushiro's face was obscured by a thick mass of red hair, growing like moss on a shaded boulder. Black eyes narrowed as Taichi gaped at him, unable to digest the visual. 

"If you dye it white and put on a fat suit," he said at last, "you could be Santa at the mall."

Koushiro shuddered as the others laughed. He didn't say anything, but Taichi knew the thought of children crawling on his lap was horrifying. Taichi amused himself with visualizing the image, shook his head, and looked at Jyou.

"Oh, shit." Taichi buried his face in his palms and fought for air. For some mysterious reason, Jyou's beard was short and scraggly, but his mustache could put a walrus to shame.

Yamato smirked and flipped his hair. He was perfectly groomed, as always, and Taichi could feel his pleasure at being presentable when everyone else looked so ridiculous. "The seventies called, Jyou," he drawled, crossing his arms. "They want their porn star back."

Takeru produced a bark of glee so sharp that his scrawny figure convulsed. He draped an arm over Hikari's shoulders and held on for dear life. She sighed and tipped her head back, staring at the clouds.

Mimi took hold of Jyou's chin. Taichi snorted when he saw the razor tucked in her palm. "Okay. He grew his beard. You all saw it." She tilted his head back and brandished the razor like a sword. "And now it's coming _off_."

Jyou struggled to pull himself away from Mimi, but she held him like a criminal taking a hostage. He choked and grabbed the edge of the table to prevent himself from being dragged off the bench.

"Mimi- As soon as we get home, I'll shave it-"

" _Now_ ," Mimi repeated, and Eimi covered a smile with her palm.

"I know what you mean," she said. "Don't you hate scratchy kisses, Mimi?"

Mimi shuddered. "They weren't scratchy," she said, trailing her fingers over Jyou's sparse jawline. "But I kept getting mustache in my mouth- Ugh!"

And they continued on like that, ignoring the identical despairing looks from their boyfriends. Iori stared at his role models, the bearers of knowledge and honesty. He seemed disbelieving and a little wounded, as if their participation in this contest disappointed him.

Swallowing hard, Taichi turned towards Daisuke. His eyebrows nearly jumped off his face. A cinnamon-colored goatee accented the boy’s chin, adding firmness, definition, and a touch of roguishness to his visage. "Daisuke!" he cried. "Not bad, man!"

Beaming, Daisuke puffed out his chest and leaned back into Ken, who was standing behind him. "Right?! Ken styled it for me. It's slick, yeah?"

Yamato snorted, but offered no criticism, a sure sign of metrosexual approval. Ken smiled, as if the bassist had paid him a direct compliment.

"But Takeru didn't grow anything at all, huh?" Daisuke said, nudging the blond with his elbow. Takeru lifted his eyebrows and leaned forward.

"Take a closer look," he said, gesturing grandly towards his face. Taichi squinted in unison with Daisuke.

"Dude, there's nothing there," Daisuke said. He cupped Takeru's face, then froze. "Wait- What?" His hands moved back and forth over Takeru's cheeks, like someone dragging clothing over a washboard.

Daisuke turned to Taichi with an expression suggesting a paranormal sighting. "Dude- I feel the hair, but I don't see it!"

Sora giggled besides Yamato, who had dropped his face into his palm. "Takeru is blond," she said gently. "The hair is fine and light."

Hikari nudged Daisuke aside, saving Takeru from further manhandling. "He feels like a peach," she said.

The group's attention shifted to him, and Taichi sighed and shrugged. "I haven't shaved the whole week. I just started growing scruff yesterday."

Miyako squinted and leaned towards him. She inched closer and closer, until her nose hovered near his cheek. "Lies," she declared at last. "You've got nothing." 

Hana snorted somewhere behind him, and Taichi scowled. "My face is darker," he insisted, and the snort shifted into a giggle.

"You didn't shave at all?" Daisuke asked. "Dude- Sweet! You don't ever have to shave?! That saves so much time!"

Taichi stared at Daisuke's cheerful grin. A slow smile spread across his face in response, and that horrible ball of tension eased in his chest. "Yeah. At least I won't have to spend half of the day shaving, unlike some people." He cocked an eyebrow at Koushiro and Jyou and grinned.

Daisuke laughed. "I'm not shaving!" he said. "I'm keepin' this bad boy. Now hand over the cash, Yamato-san!"

Eimi's hands clapped down on Koushiro's shoulders. "Dai-chan?" she said, tipping her head. 

Daisuke shrugged. "He may have the most facial hair, but mine looks the best."

Koushiro's eyes pinched shut. "That's hardly a fair measurement. It's too subjective. I pointed out from the beginning that only a quantitative criteria would suit."

"Dude, you have _got_ to learn how to talk to normal people," Daisuke said. "Since I've got no clue what that meant, I win, right?"

"That's- That's an impressive leap in logic," Koushiro muttered. Taichi snorted, despite the fact that he hadn't understood every word of Koushiro's objection, either. 

"He's right,” Eimi said. “It's not fair to judge by looks. Koushiro is the only person who grew a full beard. He's the winner. Right?"

Yamato shrugged. "Let's just vote. It's easier than arguing the fine points. Who's for Koushiro?"

Everyone except Daisuke and Yamato lifted their hands. Daisuke gave him a betrayed look, and Taichi shrugged. "Sorry, man. I like your goatee, but that's the most epic beard I've ever seen."

Daisuke cracked a tiny smile. "It _is_ pretty badass, Koushiro." Koushiro reached for the money and pocketed it without comment.

"Are we done?" Mimi sighed. "I need to shave that. _Now_."

Yamato grinned. "Not quite yet," he said. "If you would, Hikari?"

Hikari lifted the camera around her neck and smiled. Taichi laughed as Koushiro tensed. 

"Hikari-san," he muttered. "Surely, there's no need for that."

She smiled apologetically as Yamato laughed. "I'm afraid there is," he said. "I told you I'd get my money's worth."

Taichi rose and clapped Yamato on the shoulder. "Rat bastard," he said, smirking. He gestured for the others. "C'mon, men. Smile for the camera!"

Koushiro and Jyou cast appealing looks around the group, but even Eimi and Mimi were laughing. In the end, Taichi threw an arm around each of them and dragged them towards Daisuke, Takeru, and Hikari. 

"Smile," she said weakly. Koushiro and Jyou fixed twin deadpan expressions on the camera. Grinning, Taichi tickled them until they smiled, and the camera clicked in rapid succession, immortalizing the results of their wager.


End file.
